Friendly Fire
by keviana
Summary: What's worse than being shot by the bad guys? Yep: taking fire from the good guys. Submitted for Callen's Corner Challenge #4. No pairings, no needless killings, no Hetty with a bazooka.
1. Chapter 1

Friendly Fire

By Keviana

Disclaimer: All things NCIS: Los Angeles belong to Shane Brennan and CBS. I merely borrow them for playtime. And, occasional NCISLAMagazine Challenges. Say, like this one: Callen's Corner Challenge #4. The mission is to serve up some H/C with Callen and Sam's partnership, not to infringe on any copyright laws. So, to be safe, buy NCIS: Los Angeles DVD's from your nearest retailer quick-like. You won't be sorry.

* * *

LOCATION: Mexican side of the Border  
DATE: Unknown  
TIME: Unknown

Callen was roughly manhandled by three of the muscle for the Gutiérrez drug cartel into the Mexican stucco-covered, long-abandoned schoolhouse. They didn't slow as they took him down a short, wide hallway of rooms. Shoving him through the doorway of the last room on the right, they next pulled him fiercely to the corner even with the doorway. Before he knew it, they had secured his ankles with heavy, old-school irons and shoved him to the floor.

Catching his breath, and trying to gather what had happened since he had gotten busted in the head with something hard, he realized that the three big guys were backing off, watching him.

_Boss must be on his way…_ G thought to himself, grimly.

Looking down at the restraints, he realized he would need a long time with something stronger than a bobby pin to get himself free. The irons were connected with about ten inches of iron chains, and those were all connected to a pipe in the wall, leaving him with about four and a half feet of leeway. That wasn't the scary part, though.

The scary part was he had no idea where Sam was.

The cartel had somehow managed to play them. They had been chasing false leads for several days, and Callen was disgusted this had happened. He knew all the tricks, and this was only the second time in his life the cartel had bested him in a hunt. The first time in the seven years he and Sam had been partners.

_Sam._

His partner wouldn't know that he had been captured until he failed to show at a checkpoint in thirty minutes. Past that, Sam would backtrack and try to find him. Best case scenario: Sam would get to him within the hour. Worst case?...

Callen took a steadying breath.

At that moment, a stately Mexican walked in the room like he owned the place. He wore a nice business shirt and black slacks, his hair slicked into place.

Callen felt his eyes widen as who he was looking at shocked through him. This was not a Mexican. This was Javier Molero… He wasn't part of the Gutiérrez cartel. He was the main player for the Columbian arms dealer who was known for heading up Reunión De La Destrucción, one of the best sources for illegal weapons in Central and South America.

_Gutiérrez cartel and Molero? In one place?_ He was starting to feel their Intel was more holey than he had first assumed. Granger would have some explaining to do.

Molero looked Callen up and down and spoke to the three goons in Spanish. "Don't bother me with this! His friend will come soon enough. Make sure they are through with their spying." With that, Molero turned on a heel and left.

G could see out the doorway into the room across the hallway from where he sat. There were computers and weapons visible—he saw at least three semi-automatics, four ARs, and seven shotguns.

_Genius, guys. Detain the Special Agent next to your weapon stores. Bravo._

Callen glanced up at the three big guys. They were looking at each other slightly puzzled, as if they didn't know what to do next.

Callen smirked.

He did. He knew exactly what to do next: get them off-guard, steal a gun, get loose, and make a run for it. Easy.

_There's always another way. _G quoted the mantra to himself, drawing in the focus he would need to trick one of the guards into coming closer.

He began to bide his time carefully.

He didn't have to wait long. It was only four or so minutes before the guards started talking about food—two of them hadn't gotten supper or breakfast, apparently—and decided that one should go get something to eat, and another should pick up a few sangria from the guest lounge as no one would notice their disappearance with all the excitement going on. They all glanced at him, sizing up how concerned they should be that Callen might take advantage of their food distraction.

Callen had leaned against the wall, listlessly, prior to the discussion about food. He purposefully averted his eyes and looked as "worried, attempting not to be" as he could.

Luckily, they seemed to eat it up, assuming he was worried about being a prisoner of the dreaded Gutiérrez cartel. They shared a bare nod and two of them left the room.

The guard that remained moved to the two-chair-short-table ensemble along the far wall and sat down.

Callen rubbed his hands together. He had seen where the guard had his gun. Waistband. This might not be too hard.

Mumbling in Spanish, G threw a low barb. "Your mother must've been ugly."

The guard tensed. "What did you say?"

"Well, judging from your looks, anyway."

The reaction was spectacular.

The guard stood, balled his fists, came over to Callen, who hadn't moved, and snarled at him, "Look at me!"

Callen took a calculated risk and kept his eyes averted to the side. In Spanish, he replied simply, "I can't. It's too awful. Your poor mother—"

The punch the guard threw was a good one, but G was ready. Bringing up one hand to block the second punch, Callen intertwined his legs around the guard's leg that was closest. The third punch was caught and the guard's fall ensured.

The big man managed to get a muffled cry off before Callen had wiggled his way to cutting off the guard's air supply with his arm around the man's neck.

Callen frowned as the man squirmed. There was little doubt that someone had heard the noise.

The guard went still and G counted two more beats before he let go. The guard stayed down.

Now there were footsteps headed his way, and there was yelling.

Callen found the guard's gun.

Before he had an opportunity to see if the keys for his restraints were on the man, the other two men were thundering down the hallway.

They came into view, guns drawn.

G didn't hesitate to shoot.

Chest hit, shoulder hit, one, stomach hit, chest hit, two, both crumpled to the floor.

A form that Callen hadn't seen before was in the room behind the two he'd shot. The form was going down, also, one hand clutching at his chest.

They met eyes.

Callen's world froze.

_Sam._

In horror, he watched his partner slump down onto the floor.

"Sam!" G cried.

There was blood. One of the bullets that he'd fired at the guards had been clean through. It had struck his partner.

Sam was lying still on the ground. Breathing, yes. But it was the type of still that indicated he'd fainted from the wound. That was not a good sign. In fact, it bordered on bad.

Fighting back a torrent of emotions that he didn't want to acknowledge, Callen tried to get to Sam. He couldn't, thanks to the chains, which would only allow him to get his fingertips to the doorway.

_Don't panic. Think. THINK!_

Breaths coming in more controlled now, G took two seconds to assess the situation. He didn't hear anyone coming, but that didn't mean anything. Surely the shots fired were heard by someone. They would come. They would let Sam die. He needed to hurry.

He looked at the gun in his hand. He had six bullets left. The desire to shoot the restraints off was great, but he knew he needed a weapon, and iron tended to ricochet bullets. No go.

Callen frantically started to check the pockets of the guard that he had knocked out. Every single one was either empty or containing coins, a lighter, or other unhelpful items.

Panic rose in G's throat. How could he get to Sam and get them out of here?

Scanning the room again, Callen realized that one of the fallen guards had a wrist that had landed just inside the room. There was a slim chance G could pull his body into the room, and maybe this was the guard who held the key. Maybe.

Callen crawled to the guard and managed to get ahold of his limp arm. He forced himself to glance at Sam's still body only once to make sure that nothing had changed. There was more blood. The bullet had hit Sam in the chest.

_Don't panic! FOCUS! MOVE._

He pulled hard to get the body to where he could search it.

And search, he did. Every pocket.

No key.

He did find nail clippers and a small pocketknife. He pulled them free as he realized that Sam's life could be going out. He had to get free.

_The hell._

Callen knew what to do.

He found his bobby pins under his watch and opened the pocketknife, and went to work on the lock.

His subconscious echoed his plea while he worked, his entire being threatening to succumb to the emotions.

_Don't die, Sam. Don't die._


	2. Chapter 2

Every second that Callen struggled with the lock was one more he felt Sam's life draining away. Every second was one more he was condemning himself. Every second: an eternity.

He forced his thoughts to stay focused.

_The enemy is coming._

_Work faster._ Breathe. _Don't think. Don't feel. _Breathe. _That wasn't it. Try the other direction._ Breathe. _Hurry._ Breathe. _Hurry. Sam—STOP—the lock. The lock. Work faster._ Breathe.

By the time the lock gave way satisfactorily, it was several minutes past when G needed it to.

Breathing accelerating to an unreasonable level, Callen practically dove into the room Sam was lying in.

_He's so still…_

Callen fought the rise of panic as he checked over the bloody wound in Sam's chest. The wound _he_ had put there.

_It's bad._

All his fears were compounded by the fact that Sam was still unconscious; fears screaming that Sam was bleeding out, a bullet lodged in his chest, in an enemy hideout, across the border, miles from help.

_Bleeding out… Blood. Sam._

Callen forced himself to snap out of it. He pulled off his blue over shirt and quickly put it over Sam's wound, applying just enough pressure to stifle the flow.

Beneath him, Sam groaned.

"Hang in there, buddy. Stay with me. Stay with me, Sam." G heard himself pleading the words, but all he could think is how he had no way of getting Sam help without moving him. There was no medical help within fifty miles.

Sudden shouts sounded at the far end of the hallway. G gritted his teeth, let go of Sam and peeked into the hallway. He shot the two that were rushing his way before they could make more noise. It didn't matter anymore, G knew. The traded gunfire was enough to alert anyone nearby.

Callen went to the guns in the room and checked them for ammunition. Most of the semis were fully-loaded, and a few of the shotguns, and all of the ARs.

_I could shoot us out…_

More sounds echoed down the hall. Callen grabbed an AR and took the fight to them.

He had dropped four before the fifth had raised his gun. A shot whizzed past G's ear before he answered with permanence.

_We don't have TIME for this!_

Callen returned to Sam's side. The minutes had been hard on the bigger man. His skin was becoming ashen. He wouldn't make it much longer. Life was simply slipping out of Sam.

It made G desperate.

_Sam… Hang on._

More shouts were in the building. For an awful, agonizing moment, Callen felt he was choosing between stopping the enemy and letting his partner die.

His eyes burned as he picked up a second AR.

_My fault._

They just needed time. And help.

G rushed the enemy this time, taking them out faster than they knew what to do.

He made it to the doorway before he ran out of bullets. Suddenly, someone was behind him trying to get him with a knife. G turned and swung the AR, knocking the man back. He managed to hang onto the knife, though, and Callen didn't wait for him to attack him again, stepping into the offense, striking and swinging. He put all his energy into taking this guy out so he could get back to his dying partner.

_Hang on, Sam!_

Callen didn't see the second man enter the building until he had been hit to the ground.

The new enemy was on him in an instant, wrestling the gun away. Callen was having none of it, fighting with every tactic he knew to get them off him.

Somehow, the bigger man got him pinned.

G panicked. Sam was counting on him!

The man on top of him was mumbling something to him over and over again while they strained against each other.

Not able to get the man to let him go, Callen listened to the words.

"Gheeee… Gheeee… Callen… Callen…"

Frozen in confusion, Callen inhaled.

G opened his eyes.

The weight was still on top of him. Callen fought to breathe under it.

_Sam, no—wait…_

G looked at the floor. It wasn't a floor. He was on a table? No… a bed?

Callen breathed harder, his world spinning with strange fear. He wasn't sure what was real. There was low morning light? It had been afternoon, bright and blazing. Was he not in Mexico? The temperature was cooler… the air humid… Callen barely felt himself panting in breaths.

The weight on top of him murmured again, "G… G… Callen… Callen… Gotcha, bud… Just calm down…"

G tried to see who was speaking to him, but his mind knew. And he didn't believe it.

The weight shifted and pulled back until he was sitting.

_Sam?_

"Just relax, G… It wasn't real…" Sam, tired-looking, and very much unharmed, soothed quietly.

Callen calmed, as he tried to take how Sam looked now. He wasn't dying. He wasn't bleeding. He was alive. He wasn't sure what was going on, but if he hadn't shot Sam, he could be okay with it…

Sam Hanna measured his partner's reactions and how his breathing slowed. He allowed his dark eyes to stare into Callen's blue ones.

_Huh. G is staying awake this time. _Sam thought to himself. _Maybe we finally made progress._

Callen's gaze was asking questions.

Sam fell silent and gauged the lucidity in G's eyes. After they exchanged several looks in silence, Sam decided that this was the best Callen had been in days. Wearily, Sam broke the silence, "You with me, G?"

In an innocent exhale, G responded, "I shot you."

It was then Sam understood; the haunted look behind Callen's eyes, the panic when he woke up _this time_, the way he couldn't move his eyes from Sam, and why he didn't get annoyed at Sam's closeness. Callen thought he'd shot him. The gravity of the moment needed to be handled carefully. Focus returning to his bone-tired mind, Sam asked carefully, "How?" G would get that he wasn't mocking, and that he was accrediting respect to Callen's understanding of truth, in hopes that G would separate facts from fiction… If he was up for it.

And it was apparent G was. He answered with a touch of regret in his clearing eyes, "Bullet travelled through the target."

And there it was. The opportunity to drive a truth-wedge in the scenario as a mental marker. Sam let disappointment come over his features. "You friendly-fired me?" He shook his head once. "G."

Callen's gratitude flickered, blue eyes understanding as the clouds left them further. Then his brow furrowed. "Am I sick?"

Sam relaxed fully. G was finally coherent and able to understand, so he told him plainly: "Substance-induced hallucinations. And nightmares. For over thirty-six hours straight. I'm no doctor, but my guess is you're just as exhausted as I am."

"Sorry?" Callen stated as if it was expected of him. Now he was looking tired, as if all the strength he'd fought Sam with was a distant memory. His breathing had slowed even more than before.

Sam didn't doubt that G would be passing out shortly, which was what he wanted. Callen was finally on the mend. Maybe Sam could finally get some solid sleep before they had to return to the U.S…. Sam sighed heavily and picked up the wet cloth out of the nearby ornate, water-filled bowl sitting on the nightstand, squeezed it out briefly—as he was now an expert in—and, very much without permission, went after G's face.

Unable to move his arms well, Callen tried to get his face away from the freezing cloth. "Sam—!" he protested weakly.

Sam pulled back, looking annoyed. "What? You're burning up."

"I'm freezing." G replied, a shiver surfacing in time to emphasize his point.

"You've had a fever along with all the other symptoms—See? Your shirt is like a wetsuit!"

Callen couldn't deny whatever Sam was saying. He felt terrible. And his movements had left him winded. Still, Agent Sam Hanna was sitting next to him, and this felt _just as real_ as when Sam had been bleeding out... He changed the subject to something he had been wondering about, hoping it would distract himself, and his partner away from nursing duties. "Where are we?" From what he could tell, he was resting on a huge, gold-columned bed, with immaculate bedding in a large, richly-decorated room, which felt more like a living room in size, than a bedroom. There was something exotic about everything his eyes landed on, and his brain refused to figure it out for him. "Are we in a palace?"

"Yeah." Sam gave him a strange look. "Don't tell me you don't remember anything about the case we just closed?"

Callen was too tired and too alarmed at the missing memories to play. "Sam, where are we?"

Sam softened his voice, catching fully what sea of confusion his partner was lost in. "We are in Morocco. Prince Camudahli is our host—at Hetty's request, of course."

"Of course."

"After the case benefitted the Prince so… luxuriously, he was easy to convince to room us while we got you through your symptoms. Namely the hallucinations."

G took another look around with a few knowing nods. It explained why so many things looked to be made from gold or expensive fabric. "How long have we been here?"

"About a week in Morocco. Here? About three days. Hetty didn't want us on the radar by taking you to the hospital, but she was about an hour from ordering us there when you finally started sleeping like a normal person." Sam chuckled. "You wore her out good this time, G."

Callen's eyes were starting to fight him to close. He worked hard to keep them open and listen. "Are we the only ones here?"

"And Eric." Sam smiled, picking up a tablet from the bed and showing the screen to G. On it, an Eric Beale was sleeping on a couch which looked to be at his home in L.A. It was dark at Eric's place except for the glow from his laptop, his webcam still running. "He has been helping me research what to do for you. Caldarcinium exposure is a fairly new thing. He might have had to hack into a few large pharmaceutical companies' databases. He's staying online 'just in case'."

"'Caldarcinium exposure'? What?"

"'Caldarcinium'… You got yourself into a mess of it by not waiting for an air breather before racing into a lab to chase our main suspect. I repeat, G Callen, Moroccan labs are not a good place for a shoot-out."

G parted his lips, trying to figure out what his reasoning would have been this time to justify his actions, but he couldn't remember any of it. "Did I get him?"

Sam blinked, disbelief coursing through him. "_Her_. You got _her_. Geez, you really don't remember the case, do you?"

G's eyes finally won and he had to close them for a few seconds. When he opened them, a worried Sam was still sitting beside him. "All I remember… is me shooting you…"

Sam didn't joke. He moved his hand to squeeze G's shoulder hard. "Still here, Partner."

"Good." G's eyes closed on him again and he shivered. "Michelle would've sent me to join you. With her glock."

"Heh, yeah. 'Cept she'd have figured the glock too good for you. Maybe the chainsaw."

"Throwing knives?"

"You wish. Maybe the brakes on your car."

"Hetty's car."

"Speaking of…" Sam straightened. "I need to ask you… Will you do me a favor, G?"

Callen forced his eyes open and waited.

Dead-serious, Sam asked, "Until we are safely back in L.A., no more Hetty with a bazooka, and no more friendly fire?"

Callen blinked. "Wait… Hetty with a bazooka? When did this happen?"

"Get some rest, G." Sam stood and dutifully pulled the covers up to his partner's neck.

G fought his closing eyes, now intrigued. "Wait, Sam— Was this a thing? Or a dream?"

Sam exhaled, gathered the tablet, and started walking to the other bed in the large room. "Goodnight, G."

G realized he wouldn't get an answer out of Sam, so the next time his eyes slid shut, he tried to picture Hetty, dressed in her navy pant suit, taking off her glasses, setting them to the side, and pulling a bazooka out of thin air.

It was rather amusing until she was pointing it directly at him, demanding to know where his team's latest expense account reports were. "Mr. Callen, I assure you, there is enough Chrysanthemum tea in this projectile to make you, and your great, great, feuding ancestors both sorrowful and regretful that expense reports were not treated with expert care."

Callen put out two hands and tried to reason with her—after all, those expense reports were long gone. "Hetty?"

"Erm, Mr. Callen?" Hetty straightened her stance, aiming the bazooka further. "Whom did you believe invented 'friendly fire'?"

Callen exhaled, lowered his arms, and steeled himself for the tea.

The End


End file.
